


Not According To Plan

by reptilianraven



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Movie, and lots of Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/pseuds/reptilianraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James talks a lot. Really. <i>A lot</i>. Knowing this, Percival learns how to deal with the ever so constant stream of comments during missions, out of missions, and sometimes, during actual live fire.</p><p>“Truth or dare?” James says when they’re crouched behind a table for cover. A security team thunders down the hallways, bullets going through the walls.</p><p>“<i>Honestly?</i>”</p><p>-</p><p>Or the one where James and Percival play Truth or Dare for a very long time. Also, worryingly  timed explosions, stealth dating, lions, oblivious fools, and eventually, love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not According To Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Незапланированный эффект](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776001) by [neublau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neublau/pseuds/neublau)



> ah yes. my first kingsman fic is of the guy who died after 3 minutes and 2 lines and the other guy who appeared for 5 seconds in the right part of the background. this is my life. these are my choices. with percilot being 90% fanon based, i had a blast writing this because of how broad everything could get.
> 
> this is not brit-picked. i am neither american or british, so i solemnly apologize in advanced for the linguistic atrocities that may or may not exist in this fic. additional warnings include the aggressive use of parentheses and italics. you were warned.
> 
> this fic was inspired by the third headcanon in [this post.](http://dolly-bassett.tumblr.com/post/116652510762/percival-james-lancelot-headcanons) "Although generally an inscrutable iceman, Percival absolutely cannot resist a dare. Shit can get out of hand."
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

Percival passes all the tests.

Of course, when he’s actually going through them, he isn’t Percival just yet. But like all things in his life, he tackles it with a clear goal in mind. Go through the training, pass all the tests, become Percival. Become a Kingsman agent. He isn’t used to being wrong, so he makes it happen. He solves the puzzles and aces the written exams. He fights and shoots his way to the top.

When Arthur tells him to shoot the dog, he only hesitates for a split second, looking at Eloise, his Borzoi, and he pulls the trigger. It comes up blank and he almost drops to his knees right there to hug Eloise, almost sighs with heavy relief and says _I’m so sorry_.

But he doesn’t. He isn’t used to being wrong and pulling the trigger was the right answer.

So he becomes Percival. He sits at the Round Table with the rest of the Kingsman, raises his glass for the honorary toast, and he drinks to his success.

That was the first thing he does as Percival.

The second thing he does is to go to Merlin, the man who handled their training, and to ask him to delete all records of who he was.

Thankfully, Merlin doesn’t bat an eyelash or ask questions like _Why?_ or something else as equally stupid. He doesn’t deny that it’s possible or tell him he can’t do it. Instead, he just says: “Is there anybody out there who would remember what I’m deleting? Family? Friends?”

“No,” Percival says. “Just me.”

This time, Merlin takes his eyes of his monitor and looks at Percival. “This can’t be undone.”

“I’m aware.” And he is. He’s also aware of the real question Merlin is asking. The unspoken _Are you sure?_ hidden in between the lines. He’s surer of this than anything else. The only other thing he’s been more serious about was becoming Percival in the first place. Now that he’s here, he honestly doesn’t have any use for anything that isn’t what he made himself into.

“Very well,” Merlin says with a curt nod. “Although I have to ask, what in the world will we call you during the off days?”

“Percival,” He says and that’s that.

\---

Except it isn’t.

See, when Percival wasn’t Percival yet, when he was training, it certainly wasn’t a breeze. He passed, yes, but it definitely wasn’t easy. The training pushed him to his physical limits. His fellow recruits tested the limits of his patience. But nothing bothered him quite as much as Lancelot.

Kingsman agent Lancelot spoke to Percival more than he thinks he was ever spoken to throughout his entire life. But then again, Percival was never a chatty type, so that didn’t say much. Though Lancelot made up for it since he was _incredibly_ chatty.

How he got Lancelot’s undivided attention, Percival had no idea. It would have made sense if Lancelot was his sponsor, but that wasn’t the case. Percival was Gawain’s candidate. This meant that Gawain checked up on him from time to time, and by Arthurian coincidence, Lancelot was usually by his side.

From what Percival had observed, Kingsman agents seem to be generally amiable acquaintances with each other, with the exception of Galahad and Merlin, who seemed to be fierce friends. When Percival and the other recruits would do laps around the complex or have exercises outside, he’d sometimes see some of them on the edges.

He got close enough once and discovered that there had been bets placed as to who would pass each test. Essentially, when they watched, there was a pretty steady commentary flowing on all of the recruits.

“Who’s that bloke?” Percival had heard once when he passed them by on a run.

“Oh, you mean Gawain’s candidate?”

“Yeah, that one.” A pause. “He’s got a great arse.”

Percival had rolled his eyes and just ran faster.

After his run, when he was resting on the steps outside the building, idly running his fingers through Eloise’s fur, an oddly familiar voice piped up behind him with, “What’s your name?”

Percival turned around and saw Lancelot looking at him with an easy smile on his face.

“That’s not important,” He said. He wasn’t sure why Lancelot was talking to him, but the chances of there being an ulterior motive weren’t outside the realm of possibility. It could be a test. Or something else entirely.

“Well,” Lancelot said. “What am I supposed to call you then?”

“Percival,” He stood. “Once I pass all the tests.

“Cocky,” Lancelot said amusedly, as if he just found something endlessly entertaining.

“No, not at all. Just smart and very determined.” He told him. With that, he started to walk back inside, happy with having got the last word, Eloise trotting alongside him.

But before he could leave, Lancelot said, “James.”

Percival turned to look at him again, confused. “What?”

“My name,” Lancelot said. “James Spencer.”

“I think I’ll just stick with Lancelot.”

“No you won’t,” Lancelot told him. “You’ll only be able to call me Lancelot when we’re on mission. Once you’re Percival, of course.”

Percival narrowed his eyes. He knew a challenge when he saw one.

And so it went.

Lancelot (“James! It’s James until you pass, you stubborn git.”) started talking to him and just _did not stop_. He watched them train from the sidelines, staying even when his own candidate bit the dust. He didn’t understand why he had to deal with training _and_ Ja—Lancelot, because it honestly made things more irritating.

So the third thing he does once he’s Percival, after walking out of Merlin’s office, is to greet Lancelot with a smug “Lancelot,” as he passes him by in the hallway.

“James,” Lancelot says in what Percival assumes is habit by this point.

“No, I passed already.” He says. “I’m Percival, so you’re Lancelot.”

“Ah, you forgot the first criteria of calling me Lancelot, dear. Only on a mission.” He smiles. Percival wants to wipe the grin off his face.

“I don’t really understand the point,” He tells him. “You don’t make much sense, do you?”

“Well, I’m told it’s one of my more loveable qualities.” James says. “You’ll learn to get used to James while I get used to whatever your name is.”

“It doesn’t matter,” And it really doesn’t. He has no doubts concerning Merlin’s skill, so half his life must have already been erased by now. “I’m Percival.”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful,” James tells him with a quirk of his eyebrows.

“It’s my name now.”

James just looks at him. A knowing look replaces the playful glint that’s usually in his eyes. James is Kingsman. He knows how to see beyond the surface. Whatever it is he sees, it makes him pause. Percival figures that James knows that people are entitled to their secrets. James probably knows that everybody has got a few skeletons in the closet. It just so happens that Percival’s skeletons include his name and everything that came along with it.

So James doesn’t press. He just nods, understanding, and says “Percy.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Percival is way too long,”

“It’s literally just three syllables.”

“Well, Percy sounds cuter.” James shrugs.

“Are you serious?”

“Like you said, Percy.” James says. “I don’t make much sense.”

And so it went.

\---

Naturally, this meant that Percival’s first mission as a Kingsman was with Lancelot. (On the ride there, they bickered for a grand two minutes before James—and it’s James now in Percival’s head—admits defeat and allows Percival to call him Lancelot. It is a mission, after all.)

The mission was nothing too big. Just something to get him started, to ease him into the job. Get close enough to the mark to somehow acquire his palm print, something they’d need later to get past the biometric security and break into one of his facilities. The only reason Ja—Lancelot is there with him is to be his slightly more lethal babysitter, since most sitters aren’t decked out with a mini armoury. He’s just there as backup just in case Percival manages to mess something up very, very badly. Certainly something he’s not planning on doing.

This was how Percival found himself at some upscale charity event, keeping an eye out for the mark.

“You’re looking absolutely lovely tonight, Percival.” Lancelot says on the comms. It’s the first time Lancelot’s called him Percival.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Lancelot.” Percival says. “Though do try to keep it out of comms. You might be bothering Merlin.”

“Oh don’t worry about me.” And there’s Merlin. “I’ve worked with Lancelot long enough to know my limits, and this is still quite tame.”

With a sigh, Percival scans the room. The Kingsman issue glasses zoom in on faces. “Is the mark here yet?”

“Lancelot, do you have a visual?” Merlin asks.

“He’s just about to enter the building.”

He directs his gaze to the entrance and Merlin’s program pinpoints the mark, verifying his identity.

Percival begins by making his way to the mark. He makes a show of talking to the other people, staying in the peripheries, inching closer to where the mark is.

“Truth or dare?” Lancelot asks out of nowhere.

“What?” Percival says, turning out of the view of anybody who might accuse him of talking to himself.

“You’re awfully stiff,” He explains. “I was hoping to loosen you up a bit.”

Percival frowns. “I’m not stiff.”

“Yes you are,” Lancelot says. “Believe me when I say that you’re doing a wonderful job of blending in the rest of the rich twats, making small talk and whatnot, but your face is giving you away. You look, well, for the lack of a better word, grumpy.”

Percival thinks he hears Merlin snort. The bastard. “That’s just how my face is.”

“While I see the pros of this subtle prowling thing you’re doing, you could honestly just walk up to him and start a conversation if you lost the look of mild murder on your face.”

“Wouldn’t that seem a tad suspicious?” He asks as he tries to figure out where Lancelot is stationed in the room to be able to see everything. Percival moves in closer to the mark who’s engaged in a conversation with a woman.

“Let’s just say you’ve got this natural charm that would put people at ease.” Lancelot says.

“I was told in my teens that my social intelligence was the only thing I had no hope of improving.”

“I don’t know if that’s hilarious or just plain sad.”

“Honestly, I found it quite funny. Though maybe that brought the point home.”

And then Lancelot is laughing on the comms. Almost guffawing. Percival hopes he’s actually stationed outside, looking in the room using surveillance, because if he’s laughing that loud inside the room, he’d probably get kicked out. Percival is so distracted that he ends up bumping into the mark, falling to the floor. (“Oh, smooth.” “Shut it, Lancelot. You’ve distracted the poor man enough.”) The mark is kind enough to help him up, and in the process, the special transparent glove scanner that Percival is wearing gets his palm print.

The mission is successful, but in a more embarrassing way that Percival would’ve liked.

“Good job on your first mission, Percy.” James—and yes, he’s James now—says when they meet in a nearby alleyway waiting for their ride. Percival is already leaning against a wall, taking a drag from a cigarette because old habits die hard. James looks at him with something akin to slight surprise.

“You want one?” He asks.

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” James says. “I would never voluntarily inhale smoke into my excellently healthy lungs. I just didn’t peg you as the type to smoke.”

“Right,” Percival tells him. “You distracted me awhile ago.”

“Well, if you can be distracted that easily, you definitely need better focus.” James counters.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You could’ve just kept quiet and let me do my job.”

“What would be the fun in that?” James says. Then after he sees Percival’s glare he follows it up with, “Look, dear. In my few years of being a Kingsman agent, I have made myself infamous for being talkative at all times. If you can do a job with me in your ear, then you can do a job with lions prowling around you.”

“So it was a test?”

“Sort of, but not really.” James says. Percival wants to tell him how incredibly vague that sounded but James continues. “I actually just wanted to see you in action. Though now that you’ve revealed yourself to be oh so easy to distract, I think you might get paired with me quite a bit in the future.”

“He’s actually right about that bit,” Merlin breaks his silence. “Well done on the palm print, Percival, but Lancelot is right. You need to work on your focus. Lancelot is the worst thing you could throw at focus.”

Percival drops his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. Another test. Of all things, Percival knows this best. James is another challenge and Percival is going to _win_.

\---

And so it goes.

\---

He gets more missions, and a lot of them are with James.

At first, he thought it was James’ doing, but it turns out that Merlin was the one behind the assignments.

“You two complement each other,” Merlin says when Percival asks him why. He doesn’t even look away from the monitor where Galahad and Bors seem to be trudging around in a forest. “You’re efficiency. Lancelot is force. Lancelot also has the habit of being a bit trigger happy.”

(Understatement. In their last mission, Percival saw James kill a man with twenty three shots. That’s twenty two more shots than necessary. Then there are the explosions. Don’t even get him started on the explosions.)

“I could spend a few more minutes explaining why I do the things I do, but you know I do everything well.” Merlin says, taking a sip of his coffee. “The same applies to you and Lancelot. You’re both brilliant agents and you balance each other out.”

And that was that.

So he gets a lot of missions with James, and in all honesty, explosions and unnecessary theatrics aside, James is a damn good agent. Knowing this, Percival learns how to deal with the ever so constant stream of comments during missions, out of missions, and sometimes, during actual live fire.

“Truth or dare?” James says when they’re crouched behind a table for cover. A security team thunders down the hallways, bullets going through the walls.

“ _Honestly?_ ”

“Yes, honestly.” He reloads a gun he picked off from a dead body.

“Dare,” Percival says as he throws a smoke grenade out the hallway. He switches his glasses to thermal vision and hands them to James. (When he asked James why he never wore the Kingsman issue glasses, he’d told Percival that it didn’t suit him. When he asked Merlin he said, “He breaks them.”

“I assume that’s expected to happen every once in a while.”

“No, you don’t understand. He breaks them at an astonishing rate. I’ve just given up and stopped giving him replacements.”)

“Christ, why didn’t you pick truth?” James slips the glasses on. “Now I’ve got to think of a dare.” Then they’re out in the hallway.

Despite the smoke and the fact that Percival’s glasses are also prescription—so if there wasn’t any smoke he’d still be pretty blind anyways—he knows that James shoots everybody clean through the head. Percival really doesn’t understand James’ hobby of overshooting. It’s truly overkill because he never misses his first shot.

“Wait, did that mean that you already had a truth lined up?” Percival asks when they manage to get on the roof, waiting for their extraction team.

“Of course I did, Percy.” James tells him. “You’re a total enigma.”

It’s when they’re already in the chopper when James says, “I dare you to have a drink with me.”

“I don’t drink,” Percival says easily. It is true, though.

“You smoke but you don’t drink, you’re an absolute mystery,” James says. “Then I dare you to sit with me while I inebriate myself.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Oh, so you’re not up for the dare?” James taunts. “Too chicken?”

It’s childish how much that actually get’s on Percival’s nerves. He grits his teeth and says, “No.”

“Then there we have it.”

That’s how Percival learns the following things:

  1. James seems to have a ridiculously high alcohol tolerance, as he doesn’t actually get drunk throughout the entire night despite the amount of alcohol he ingests.
  2. James has a German Shepherd named Jerry. (“Jerry the German Shepherd? Really?” “Oi, alliteration is perfect for dogs, alright? I mean, you named your horse of a dog _Eloise_.” “Eloise is a perfectly respectable name for a dog and the Borzoi is a graceful breed.”) 
  3. James really can’t miss. This applies to guns, arrows, and yes, darts.
  4. James’ aforementioned accuracy and precision paired with some bets made with some truly inebriated folks results in quite the scuffle. But thanks to the trusty amnesia darts, nobody except Percival and James will remember it.



It was probably the most fun Percival ever had in his life.

\---

Percival always picks dare.

He’s sure that this annoys James more than James would like to admit.

Percival knows that James wants him to pick truth so that James could ask him about his past or something of the like. But secrets are secrets, no matter what game. Percival never backs down from any of James’ dares, so technically, he isn’t breaking the rules of Truth or Dare.

Though, to be fair, all of James’ dares are so innocently mundane Percival thinks it to be a trick at first. After every mission, it’s always something like “Have lunch with me,” or “Let’s walk our dogs together” or “So there’s this new movie—” and etc. Percival was never one to say no to a dare, and around three dares in, he admits that he’s actually enjoying himself. James is good company when he isn’t being completely annoying. (And who’s he kidding, he still is even when he _is_ completely annoying.)

Percival has no idea why all of James’ dares are so tame. He’d figure a trigger happy thrill-seeker like him would have something more dangerous up his sleeve. But time and time again, his dares always come to this: “Hang out with me.”

He thinks that maybe James is lonely. He’s an obvious extrovert but in this job, there isn’t much time to make friends. The only people outside of Kingsman James seems to interact with is the old lady and her granddaughter who feed the pigeons at the park James walks his dog at.

James always picks truth.

Percival doesn’t take advantage over it.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Beige.”

“Favorite book?”

“The Little Prince.”

“Name of your first pet?”

“Goldy.”

“Let me guess, it was either a goldfish or a golden retriever.”

“Am I really that predictable?” (It was a goldfish.)

“Any siblings?”

“Little sister, Jenny.”

“Christ, you’re James, she’s Jenny, and you named your dog Jerry? There’s such a thing as taking alliteration too far.”

“Nonsense.”

“Ideal partner?”

“Smart. Doesn’t take any shit, including mine. Can beat me in chess.”

“Chess is a prerequisite for future partners?”

“Oh come on, look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t judge people at least a little bit by how they play chess.”

“Point taken.”

Percival feels genuine pity for whoever is tasked to transcribe their mission conversations. He’ll have to give them a cake. Or maybe a raise.

They work, talk, hang out, then talk more. It takes a while for Percival to notice in between the missions and the dares and the easy flirting that James can’t seem to stop, that he’s made a friend. By far, it’s the most natural thing to have ever happened to him. Percival has a friend, and he wouldn’t give him up for the world.

\---

But the universe likes to mess things up in idiotic ways. So it starts with this: lions.

\---

“Remember that one time on my first mission,” Percival whispers as he tries to dislocate his thumb so he can slip out of the cuffs they put on him. “When you told me that if I could handle you in my ear, I could handle lions?”

“It was a figure of speech!” James says through the comms as Percival stares at the _actual fucking lion_ sleeping just a few feet away from him in the enclosure the villain of the week threw him in. Who the fuck has a _pet lion?_. If he gets out of this alive, he hopes that James didn’t kill the prick just yet. Percival wants to kill him himself. Via _lion_.

“Percival,” Merlin says. “Lancelot is already en route to you. Don’t hurt the lion. While they aren’t endangered, the IUCN Red List marked them as Vulnerable in 2012.”

“I might be marked as Extinct in the next few minutes,” Percival retorts.

“The lion doesn’t want to be there as much as you do,” Merlin tells him.

Percival rolls his eyes. It’s not like he could kill the lion, even if he wanted to. They took all his weapons before cuffing him and throwing him in. When he says all his weapons, he really means it. They even took his oxfords. The only piece of equipment they left him was his glasses, thank god. If he’s going to get eaten by a lion, he would at least like the fighting chance of being able to _see_ what’s happening.

He dislocates his thumbs with a soft hiss, slipping the cuffs off with a jingle that makes him still. Percival looks at the lion. It stretches, revealing claws that could rip him apart, but it doesn’t wake up.

“Christ,” Percival breathes out. “Lancelot—”

“On my way, dearest.” James says over the sound of gunshots ringing out in the background. “This man keeps his illegal zoo _very_ well guarded.”

“Just tell me when you’re close—” And then Percival knows he’s close.

Because an explosion blasts out somewhere nearby, shaking the enclosure.

The lion wakes up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Percival says. The lion looks at him in slow, sluggish blinks.

“Lancelot, status.” Merlin says.

“I’m almost there,” James says, sounding out of breath. “Percy, dear, please don’t be dead when I get there.”

“I very well will try my hardest,” Percival tells him because the lion is stretching again, showing off its claws, before _getting up_. The only thing Percival has to protect himself with are the cuffs, which he could work with if he was against a man, but this is a lion. He can’t kill a lion with a pair of handcuffs.

Then the lion looks at Percival, its brain probably labeling him as ‘dinner’, and it starts walking forward.

“Lancelot,” Percival backs away as slowly as he can. No sudden movements. Don’t trigger the predator instinct.

“Percy, I swear I’m coming. Just hang o—” Another explosion shakes the ground, cutting James off.

“Lancelot? Lancelot do you copy?” He says, panic rising in his throat, though not because he’s about to be eaten by a lion, but because James’ transmission is nothing but dead static in his ear. “James! _James_ , are you there?”

He probably isn’t, and Percival is going to die. Percival is going to be eaten by a lion and he’s going to die and the worst part about it is the fact that James is probably also dead. The thought of James being anything other than alive and happy and annoying to the brink of Percival’s patience fills him with red hot anger and grief. The latter is to be expected, like a hollow that has been carved out of his heart, but the former? The former is because Percival knows James. Percival knows the man like he never had anything to hide. No secrets. James always picked truth and he practically bared himself to Percival, despite Percival being careful not to ask the wrong questions. James never kept any secrets but Percival kept them all. James doesn’t know him. Never will, at this point.

Percival is angry because, for the first time, he regrets always picking dare.

So it’s actually quite anticlimactic when the ceiling caves in, blown to bits, and a rope is thrown in while James—decidedly not dead—peers in.

“You fucking arse,” Percival tells him when he climbs out. “I mourned you for a good thirteen seconds.”

“Well, if we don’t get out of here in a hurry, your practice might be put to good use.” James smiles, his face speckled blood and dust. “After you, dear.”

They run out of the underground complex, into the getaway van, and away from explosions and lions and too-close near death experiences. That’s the only time Percival notices the bloodstain on James’ suit, just one of many, getting bigger.

“Bugger,” James says when he follows Percival’s gaze to his side. “I honestly did not know that was there.” Then he shuts his eyes and he doesn’t open them.

\---

Percival drops a folder on Merlin’s desk. “Mission report,” He says. “I already sent the digital copy.”

Merlin looks at the folder with an odd mix of amusement and pity. “It’s a bit thicker than usual.”

“The mission was a bit more unique than usual,” Because really. _Lions_. “That, and James had an endless amount of notes and side comments I had to type and rephrase for him since the nurses won’t let him use a laptop. They think it would disturb his rest, like he couldn’t do that himself.”

It’s been a week since the lion mission. The bullet wound James had suffered from was, thankfully, not as bad as it looked. It didn’t hit any major organs, mostly just skin and muscle. The worst James had gone through was a lot of blood loss and a concussion. The only thing Percival ended up with was a splint for his thumb.

(The first thing James had said to him when he woke up was “Am I in heaven?”

And the first thing Percival told him after he was able to snap out of James’ bleary eyes looking up at him was, “No. You’re in Medical at HQ and I’m bloody well pissed off that you made me think that my thirteen second practice mourning would be put to good use.”

“Right, well. Not heaven then.” James had sighed and his easy smile began to slip back into his face. “If this were heaven, you wouldn’t be nagging me.")

“Well, you’re both alive and well, and the mission was successful. No long term damage done.” Merlin says, flipping through the report. “Good job, though I’d suggest a week or two off for the both of you.”

“Merlin, I’m not injured.” Percival says. Thumb aside, he’s physically good for duty.

“But Lancelot is.”

“You are aware that we’re two different people.”

“Yes, but you both work better together.” Merlin says thoughtlessly. “Remember your last solo mission?”

Percival nods. “It was successful.”

“But you sulked your way through the entirety of it,” Merlin raises an eyebrow. “When Lancelot does solo missions now, he either ends up talking to himself or me. Plus, there’s twenty percent more public damage when he’s not on a mission with you. I’ve calculated it. He’s impressively consistent.” He closes the folder. “And don’t try to tell me that you’d want to be anywhere that isn’t right at his bedside, enduring whatever it is he talks about.”

Percival looks at the wall behind Merlin, “Well—”

“You enjoy his company,” Merlin says. “And I’ve just given you two weeks to enjoy his company without either of you being at risk of dying.”

Merlin isn’t wrong. The moment James woke up, Percival has taken to living in the chair in his room. He enjoys James’ company. He enjoys the bickering, the missions, the dares, the smug grins. He loves hanging out with James, _being_ with James. He loves—

He—

“Shit,” Percival says. The world doesn’t stop as his brain puts the rest of the pieces together. Merlin coughs to the side, trying to hide his smile.

“Had a bit of an epiphany?” He asks.

“No,” Percival tells him. “I’m leaving.”

“Of course you are,” Merlin says as Percival tries his best to calmly escape from Merlin’s office. If he’s having an epiphany, he’d rather have it somewhere where Merlin isn’t.

\---

He’d also like to have his epiphanies while drunk.

This is so that he can escape thinking about it for now. When he told James that he didn’t drink, he was sort of telling the truth. Percival tends to stay away from alcohol because when he gets drunk, he gets…reflective when spoken to. Drinking alone means a nice break from stressful thoughts. Drinking with company means him thinking about literally everything stressing himself out.

So he’s in a bar. Somewhere. He doesn’t really remember or care right now. It’s fairly empty. There are only two other people there, the bartender doing a crossword and an old man watching the news on the television. He’s drinking alone in a booth and nobody is going to talk to him. He’ll be fine. Everything is going according to plan. He’ll drink so that he doesn’t have to think about the _thing_ , then he’ll just keep putting it off until it fades away. Simple as that.

“Percy?” James’ voice crackles in on the comms when Percival has gone a bit past the point of a pleasant buzz and more into the territory of brain silence. He curses himself for forgetting to switch out these glasses for his regular ones.

“Sod off,” He says into his drink, turning away so that none of the other bar patrons would notice the drunk man in a suit talking to himself.

“Actually, I will do the exact opposite of that because you seem upset for some reason.” James says. “Merlin told me you seemed a bit off, and that I should check up on you.”

“Merlin’s a right prick.”

“Only sometimes, he is.” James says, but he’s not on the comms anymore. Percival looks up from his drink to see James sliding into the booth, sitting across him, holding a glass of water of all things. He pushes the glass towards Percival. “Drink that. Always good to stay hydrated.”

“How did you get here?” Percival narrows his eyes at the glass of water, then at James.

“Took a cab.”

“No, I meant how did you get out of Medical?” He clarifies. “You haven’t been discharged yet.”

“Well they should have since I think I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“So you broke out.”

“You know me so well, dear.” James says lightly, not asking any questions. What a considerate bastard. What a wonderful, understanding, piece of shit.

It’s too late. Percival is thinking about it. He’s thinking about it and he’s not stopping.

“Truth or dare?” Percival says.

James doesn’t miss a beat, “Truth.”

“Why are you here?”

“Merlin told me to check up on you.”

“Bullshit. That’s only half of the reason why,” Percival tells him. After all the times they’ve worked together, Percival knows how to read James.

“You worried me, you arse.” James rolls his eyes. “You told me you don’t drink and I’ve never seen you go against that rule of yours until now, when you suddenly decide to get hammered, or at least as close to that as you can get. How much have you drank?”

“Some.”

“That’s—nevermind.” James says. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to pick truth on your next turn.” James tells him. “And drink your damn water before I get tempted to splash it in your face.”

“You can’t do that.” Percival downs the rest of his drink, then going for the water. “You can’t dare me to pick truth.”

“Of course I can. Unless you’re not up for it,” James says. “No shame in being too chicken for a dare.”

Percival grinds his teeth, his hold on the glass tightening. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why do you always dare me to hang out with you?” He asks. Percival is thinking about the _thing_. It’s bouncing around his head, echoing with possibilities and what-ifs.

“I like spending time with you, Percy. Despite being a stick in the mud sometimes, you’re my friend.” James answers. “And yes, I know you’d hang out with me even if I didn’t dare you to, but it’s become a habit. It’s our thing.” He looks at Percival, his eyes searching. “Your turn, dear. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Percival says for the first time.

“Why are _you_ here?”

“To drink.”

“And why are you drinking?”

“To forget.”

“Well, how very _Little Prince_ of you.” James laughs softly. Percival just takes a drink from the glass, frowning when he remembers that it’s water. “Percy, I’m going to need a real answer.”

“What if I don’t want to give you a real answer?”

“Then you won’t. Truth or dare is just a game and you can always break the rules. Just because I want an answer, doesn’t mean I’ll always get one.” He says. “But for the record, I’d really love an answer.”

Percival doesn’t want to give him the answer. He doesn’t want to say, I’ve fallen in love with you. Somewhere in between the bullets and the explosions and the dog walking and the lunches, I’ve fallen in love with you. Percival doesn’t want to say, for the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. I have no strategy, no goal, no mission. Falling in love with you is not some challenge I can conquer. He does not want to tell James, I’m terrified. Falling in love with you is terrifying because I did it like something I have never done in my life: without a plan, without a clue, and desperately wanting more.

So, instead, he says “Evan.”

“What?” James tilts his head.

“My name,” He tells James. “Before I was Percival. Before I asked Merlin to delete everything. Evan Reid. I—”

“Okay, I’m sure this must be hard for you, but I’m going to stop you right there.” James interrupts him and Percival is actually shocked enough to just shut up. “Does Evan Reid have absolutely anything to do with why you’re drinking your sorrows away, hm?”

James didn’t say truth, so he doesn’t have to answer.

But then again, the look in James’ eyes say _dare_.

“No,” Percival says.

“Then shut up about it,” He rolls his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Percival says. “Why? I thought you wanted to know? Wasn’t that the whole point of the truth or dare thing in the first place? You wanted to figure me out, right?”

“You daft bastard, I don’t want to figure you out.” James says in a way that suggests he’d want to pinch the bridge of his nose or something. “I just wanted to _know_ you. And no, I don’t mean whatever backstory you have that’s so tragic that you had it wiped away from the world. I mean _you_. The guy who named his weird long dog Eloise. The guy who always takes a smoke after a mission. The guy who can never back down from a dare. That guy.” He says. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck about whoever the hell Evan Reid might be because it sure sounds like you hate the guy. I like to think that you like who you are now, though. You like Percival. I like Percival. It’s as simple as that.”

Percival looks at James. He looks at this fucking perfect idiot. He breathes in, breathes out, then says, “Ask me truth or dare.”

“Why?”

“So that I can pick truth and you’ll be sure that I’m not lying.”

“God, you’re hammered. Your logic doesn’t make sense anymore.” James quirks a small smile at him. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do I get to ask you a question?”

“No. This is just a continuation of your last question. Why I’m drinking.”

James leans back. “Alright, then. Why?”

“Because I realized I’m in love with you.” He says, looking James straight in the eye. The only times he’s ever been this sure was during training, then when he asked Merlin to erase Evan Reid. This was the hardest one so far.

James doesn’t react, not visibly at least. He just blinks. Once. Then twice. Then he says, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.” Percival tells him because of course. Of course when he finally gets it out, James doesn’t believe him. “I picked truth. I’m not lying.”

“But you’re also not sober,” James tells him. There’s something about his smile that seems strained. Tired.

“No, no, no. Fuck you. I mean this. I love you. This isn’t some drunk bullshit I’m making up. _I love you._ ”

“Then tell me again tomorrow.” James says. There’s nothing cruel in his voice. It’s just a simple request but it still cuts deep. Still stings. “There’s time for you to tell me again tomorrow. Now, all I want to do is make sure you get home safe.”

“But James—”

His words get lost when James stands and gently pulls him out of the booth. It’s a bit of a blur, Percival really had drank _a lot_. They’re in a cab then they’re in outside his flat then he’s being deposited on his bed.

“I love you,” Percival says, words slurring with sleep and exhaustion. Eloise hops onto his bed and noses at his fingers.

James hums as he gets Percival’s shoes off. “Tell me again tomorrow.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Truth or dare?” He says instead of answering, threading his fingers through Eloise’s fur. “Pick dare.”

“Dare.”

“Stay.”

James smiles, a genuine one this time, nothing sad about it. Just soft around the edges like a well worn duvet.

“Of course.” James says. “Anything for you, Percy.”

\---

Waking up has never been as excruciating as it was in this exact moment. Percival has a splitting headache, an emotional crisis, a bad taste in his mouth, and a very heavy dog sleeping on top of him.

He can hear the faint sound of humming from his kitchen along with something that smells delicious. Then the humming turns into out of tune singing, some rubbish pop song, and only James does that really.

 _Christ_ , Percival thinks. Like he couldn’t fall in love with the man more. Eloise licks his face in sympathy.

He runs the events of last night through his mind. The drinking, the dysfunctional game of Truth or Dare, the, fuck, the _confession_. He did it. He actually went and said it.

And all James had to say to him was “Tell me again tomorrow.”

But does Percival really want to do that?

What happened last night happened, and he can’t take it back. He confessed with some sort of slim hope that maybe, just maybe, James felt the same way. But he didn’t react. All he did was say “Tell me again tomorrow.”

James is a bastard. A wonderful, _understanding_ , bastard.

James was giving him a way out.

Now it’s up to Percival on whether or not to take it.

What happened can’t be taken back, but with this, it can be forgotten. Discredited. Swept under the rug, never to be seen again.

He breathes in and he feels safer now that he has a plan. He needs a plan for this, of all things.

Percival stands up, Eloise trotting off with him, and he goes out.

\---

He takes the way out.

And so it goes.

\---

Merlin wasn’t kidding about the two weeks off. Though what Percival didn’t know was that James was going to be spending those two weeks at his flat.

He doesn’t mind. Not a bit. It’s actually really nice, having somebody with him all the time, especially when that somebody seems to have forgotten all about those three little words he’d said on That Night.

It’s like it never happened. Just like his life before Kingsman, it has been erased. Wiped out. He’s been given a new clean slate and told not mess it up again. 

He and James spend the next two weeks in a haze of lazy leisure, like the seconds are in no rush and they’ve got nowhere to be. James makes him watch the Daniel Craig Bond films. They eat lunch out or take turns cooking (but both of them hope that James just ends up cooking since Percival can’t cook for shit.) Dinner is usually takeout since the night has a habit of making effort go away. They alternate between who sleeps on the couch or on Percival’s bed, because Percival isn’t going to let James sleep on the couch and James doesn’t want to evict Percival out of his own bed. James pops over to his flat to pick up Jerry then they walk their dogs together at the park. Eloise and Jerry tangle their leashes together and the old lady who feeds the birds with her granddaughter waves at them when they pass.

These two weeks were tiny little real life things meshing together like sand and dust. James and Percival in close quarters, acting as natural as ever.

It’s the best and worst two weeks Percival has ever had the pleasure of enjoying and enduring.

It’s like a sick advertisement showing Percival what he could have if things had gone his way, if James loved him like how Percival wanted. They could have this and so much more.

But he took the way out. He has to be consistent and stay out.

It’s another goal. Just another mission. Stick to the plan and everything will be fine. He can deal with it.

He really can.

\---

A few days later, James is cleared for duty. Merlin gives them a simple mission. Just infiltrate the criminal headquarters and stop a bunch of low level thugs from going big. They finish up with flying colors, two hand grenades, and a wooden chair used as a particularly brutal weapon.

And Percival feels like he’s missing something.

“James,” He says, forgoing the codename since their marks have been incapacitated.

“Yes, dearest?” James asks as he finishes tying up the last thug. They’ll be picked up for interrogation at HQ.

“Are we forgetting anything?” Percival asks him, trying to put a finger on what exactly seems _off_. “I feel like we’re forgetting something.”

“Well, all of the hooligans are secured, intel has been sent to Merlin, the base of operations destroyed.” James counts off on his fingers. “I’d say we’ve done everything that there is to be done without any excessive injuries or, sadly, explosions.”

“No, no. We’re missing something.” Percival says, glancing at the restrained perpetrators. One of them nods vigorously in fear when Percival’s gaze reaches him. “Yes, we’re missing something.” Then it clicks. “You didn’t dare me.”

“What?” James says.

“Dare. You didn’t dare me,” Percival says. “Aren’t you going to dare me to have lunch with you?”

“It’s a bit late for lunch,” James tells him, completely missing the point.

“Then early dinner. Or whatever.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ That’s never stopped you before. Why is _why_ important now?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just kiss already.” The thug rasps out from where he’s on the floor.

“Oi, you shut up. You’ve got no place in this conversation.” James points his gun at the man and he cowers back into silence.

“I find myself having to agree with the man,” Merlin says over the comms. “I thought you two would have settled this over the very generous two week vacation I gave the both of you.”

“What?” James says right as Percival says, “You scheming fucking bastard.”

“I am what I am,” Merlin tells them. “Listen, I’m going to give the both of you five minutes off the record. Nobody will transcribe what you’ll say in these next five minutes. Please use this time to get your heads out of your damn arses. Honestly, you’re both painfully head over heels for each other. I don’t see what the problem is. I’ll be back in five.”

With a soft click, Merlin’s transmission cuts off. Percival runs the new information through his mind. The word _both_ rings out in his head, echoing along with the possibilities and what-ifs.

“Hm, well.” James says awkwardly. “That was odd.”

“Merlin said ‘both’,” Percival catches up. “He said ‘both’. Is that true?””

James crosses his arms petulantly. “I don’t want to answer that. Merlin is wrong. He was wrong about you so—”

“No he wasn’t,” Percival tells him and fuck. Fuck. So much for staying out. In three different words, he dives right back in.

“What do you mean?” James asks. “Are you saying—”

“You two really that bad at communicatin’?” One of the other thugs pipes up. James shoots him in the leg without looking.

He’s right, though. Percival and James don’t seem to be very good at communicating fairly simple pieces of information to each other. But they always seem to get it right when…

“Truth or dare?” Percival says over the whimpers of the thug. They always get it right when they’ve got rules to play by. When they’re playing a dumb little game that seems to have entrenched itself in the both of them.

“Percy,” James sighs, looking at him almost pleadingly and Percival just doesn’t _understand_.

“James. Truth or dare?” He repeats, walking James away from where the thugs are tied up. This is not a conversation he’d want an audience to.

“Fine. Dare,” 

“I dare you to tell me what changed.” He says. “Why you didn’t dare me awhile ago. Something changed.”

“That’s—God, by this point, the game should just be called Truth or Truth.” James rubs a hand over his face.

“I want an answer,”

“Nothing,” James tries.

“No, it’s not nothing. There’s something. I don’t care how small it is, but there _is_ something.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter.” James says and of course it fucking does. “It’s not important. Not to you, anyways.” And he says this so bitterly, just spiraling everything deeper and deeper into something Percival doesn’t know.

“What does that even _mean?_ ” Percival asks, stepping forward, trying to find answers in how James is looking at him like he’s some sort of disaster. “ _Please_ , just give me something. I want to understand—”

“You told me you loved me,” James interrupts him, though not with a yell, but with a voice so impossibly small like fragile glass. Percival doesn’t say a word, waiting for the rest of the answer. “You told me you loved me, when you were drunk that night. You remember that, right?”

“Yes,” Percival answers simply. He won’t jump to conclusions. Not now. Not yet.

“Then there it is.” James says with a curt nod. “You told me you loved me when you were drunk, and I wasn’t sure if you meant it. I told you to tell me again when you were sober, so that I could believe you completely because I couldn’t let myself believe in something as amazing as that with any sliver of doubt in my mind. I told you to tell me again, and you didn’t. It was a mistake and I get that.” He continues. “I didn’t dare you today because I’ve been accidentally daring you to go out on stealth dates with me pretty much since we started working together. And I figured that you’d be more comfortable if I stopped.”

Percival isn’t breathing. The air is stuck in his lungs, stagnant like it’s waiting for a bomb to explode, for something to go wrong.

But nothing does.

“You’re an idiot,” Percival says and James has the integrity to look taken aback. “I didn’t say it again in the morning because I thought you were giving me a way out. I thought you _wanted_ me to take the way out.”

“Why in the world do you always think in worst case scenarios?” James asks lightly, but there’s a certain lilt in his voice, a certain hope.

“You always have to be ready for things to go sideways,” Percival says, and he steps closer. James doesn’t back away. He looks into Percival’s eyes, finally getting it.

“And what if things go perfectly? Did you ever think about that?” James asks but he doesn’t let Percival answer. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Percival says because he knows what the question is and he wants to say it. He wants to say it and have James believe it completely.

“If things went perfectly, what would you have said the morning after that night?”

“I love you,” He answers. “Truth or dare?"

“Dare.”

“Kiss me.”

James doesn’t need to be told twice.

\---

Together, they’re an absolute disaster. Not to each other, but to everybody else.

On missions, they’re lethal. They work in a kind of sync that none of the other agents seem to have mastered. When they’re not on missions, they bicker about things like the brand of dog food or what to order for takeout. The woman who’s in charge of transcribing the transmissions gets a headache typing out their conversations, but she also finds it oddly romantic. The old lady and her granddaughter at the park giggle when they see James kiss him when they’re out walking the dogs. Everybody else at Kingsman is just glad that they’ve gotten themselves sorted out, because the betting pool they had on them can finally be settled. Of course, it’s Merlin who wins, because he really is a scheming bastard. James eventually challenges Percival to a game of chess, and it ends with a stalemate.

If one was to search for Percival’s files on the Kingsman database before, they would have found absolutely nothing. But if one checks now, they’ll see a small note that says “In a relationship with agent Lancelot” like it’s some sort of Facebook feed.

James and Percival still play Truth or Dare at inopportune moments, but it works. It’s their thing.

Percival honestly doesn’t have a plan for this, for James, but he figures he doesn’t need one. They can just make it up along as they go. And so it goes and all that. Of all people who are capable of this, it’s the two of them. They’ve got this covered.

**Author's Note:**

> i do not know how long it takes for somebody to heal from a superficial gunshot wound in the abdomen, but for fanfic’s sake, let’s pretend it was as long as how it was written. im not a doctor, or particularly caring about what doctors think. no offense to all the doctors out there. i just couldnt find it in myself to be medically accurate here.
> 
> a quick note on borzois: while in this fic percival has a borzoi, borzoi’s are generally not good matches for people who are constantly out of the house/away for long periods of time. being a kingsman, this p much describes percival. so let’s just assume that percival leaves eloise with his neighbor on long missions. of course this also means james leaves jerry with somebody too. rest assured that all dogs in this fic are well taken care of behind the scenes.
> 
> james’ last name comes from [this post](http://actualbird.tumblr.com/post/117089089257/omfg-agentlancelot-dob-20-05-1975-39-doa)
> 
> im [actualbird](http://actualbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. come say hi or yell kingsman at me. i hope you had fun.


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